by Debra Dunbar
But I had to. Anything I could find out that might help Tremelay find the killers and put an end to this was worth it. And didn’t these people deserve to be mourned? Didn’t they deserve to have their deaths regarded with a sense of outrage, their bodies and their pain burned into my memory forever? I might be a stranger, but the connection of a stranger was better than remaining undiscovered in a park for years, or becoming a John Doe among so many at the morgue.
The bodies were laid out in an adjoining clearing, lined up on tarps and in various stages of decomposition. It was August in Maryland. I’d been upwind before, but no fortuitous breeze could lessen the stench that hit me when I approached that clearing.
Tremelay cleared his throat. “There was a ditch, kind of like a mass grave but it wasn’t completely filled in. They didn’t use lime or anything to speed decomposition or hide the smell. It’s like they knew they’d be gone and using another site by the time these were found.”
Five ritual areas. Five bodies. I looked at the nearest one, blackened and still oozing. “Probably dead for two weeks,” the nearby tech mentioned. “Although it’s hard to tell exactly. There’s a lot we’ll have to factor in before we can get a solid timeline on these guys.”
I yanked my shirt up to cover my nose and mouth, not caring if I was flashing my bra to the techs and Tremelay. Then I looked upward into the leafy canopy and pushed down my nausea. It was just flesh, just decomposing flesh. I needed to get over it and help.
So I did. I compared this to the only frame of reference I had—road kill. Two weeks in the August heat, but in the bottom of a ditch and sheltered from the sun. I didn’t envy these crime scene techs their job. Not in the least bit.
The tech kindly waited for me to get a grip before continuing. “These other ones were probably killed on the following days in order, the last one four days ago.”
I walked by the victims, trying to find anything in their faces and naked bodies that I could use.
The tech walked with me, gesturing toward the line of corpses. “We’ll need to wait for the M.E. to weigh in, but none of them appears to have been restrained by rope or tape. They may have been drugged. We’ll see what the tox screens say.”
They’d say no. Drugged victims wouldn’t yield as much energy and wouldn’t be worth all this effort. I’d done some research in my spare moments and although I didn’t have a vast store of information on death magic, some of the dark arts books I’d acquired due to their demonology chapters did outline the basics of the rituals. It was a disturbing read. The victims were held by the arms and legs, but still fully aware at the time of the ritual. It was recommended the victim be in a state of panic at the moment of sacrifice. Terror lent an extra punch to the energy collected. The whole thing made me sick.
I put some much needed distance between myself and the bodies. “So no marks at all? No signs they were smacked on the head when they were taken, or bruises anywhere?”
The tech shook his head. “It’s summer and it’s been kinda hot the last few weeks. Decomposition is pretty bad on the older ones. There are some tattoos and scars I can make out on the recent ones. This last one has a really weird burn mark on his waist.”
That was an odd coincidence when I also had a “weird” burn mark on my waist. Did the guy work in food service and have a run-in with a hot pan? Because it would be beyond strange for two people to have the same demon-mark on their left side.
“See? It looks like a cigar burn, only it’s bigger. And it’s completely round. It must have hurt like heck to leave a scar like that. That’s a third-degree burn kind of scar.”
My brain did a one-eighty. I held my breath and leaned down to look at the man’s waist. His skin had a mottled tone and was stretched considerably in bloat, but the round mark on his side was as clear as the nose on my face. And as clear as the scar on my own side. It couldn’t have been a coincidence. This man, this last victim, he had been marked. Demon marked.
But was it a demon or an angel? I closed my eyes, trying to recall what I could of Bliss’s naked body sprawled in the tub. Try as I might, I couldn’t remember if she had the same mark or not. She had to have something on her that confirmed my suspicions about her deal with Araziel.
“Hey, Tremelay,” I called. The detective turned his head toward me. “Can you call down to the morgue and ask them if Bethany Scarborough had any scars on her waist? Round, like a really fat cigar burn or a hickey. Raised skin. White. It should have been obvious.”
The detective tilted his head, one eyebrow arching skyward. “Okay. I’ll check.”
I looked again at the body before me. “Any idea who this is? Who any of them are?”
The tech shook his head again. “They were naked with nothing to ID them. I took finger prints of the ones I could. If they’re in the system, we’ll know by tomorrow. If not… well, it depends on whether they match any missing persons’ reports or not.”
“Ainsworth!” I looked up and saw Tremelay motioning to me. With an apologetic smile at the tech, I jogged over to him.
“M.E. says there was a mark, but it’s not what you described. It looks to be more like a birthmark of sorts and it’s right over the center of her chest. He’s sending a picture.”
“The heart chakra,” I commented.
“I don’t know about chakra, but it’s not over her heart. It’s right in the center of her sternum. But the mark does kinda look like a heart.”
“That’s where the chakra is,” I replied. “It’s not over the heart organ, it’s on a center line with the other chakras. It’s called the heart chakra because it’s the focal point for compassion and mercy.”
His phone dinged and he swiped it, raising his eyebrows as he handed it to me.
I looked down at the picture of a brown birthmark in the rough shape of a heart right between the curve of two breasts. It was perfectly placed, and I was darned sure it hadn’t been there since Bethany’s birth. Still, it was best to check these things before I went off on crazy theories.
“Can you do one more thing? Check with Bethany’s immediate family and see if she had this mark from when she was a child?”
Tremelay took his phone back, his eyes never leaving my face. “What are you thinking, Ainsworth? It doesn’t look like a tattoo or any kind of burn. It looks like a birthmark.”
I raised the side of my shirt. “The point is it doesn’t look like this.”
The detective bent over, tilting his head to look at my waist. I felt fingers lightly touching the skin next to the mark, then nothing as they drifted over the raised surface of the scar.
“Damn. That’s a nasty burn scar, Ainsworth. And this connects to the birthmark on the victim how?”
“It means…” I took a deep breath, nervous about admitting this to anyone. “It means that Bethany wasn’t marked by a demon. This scar on my waist? I’m marked by a demon. And that last victim over there was, too.”
He stood upright, and I couldn’t quite read the expression on his face. “So what’s the mark over the heart chakra then?”
“I think Bethany was marked by an angel—the very same angel who killed Ronald Stull and the two junkies.” I told Tremelay about what I’d found at Bliss’s house, what I’d read in her journal grimoire.
“So this Araziel marked her, but not to kill her. He marked her so he could ease her transition at the time of death?”
I nodded. “I think so.”
“Damn. That’s just… sad. He never got to collect her soul.”
I nodded again. “And I think he’s upset about that. Not in a demon kind of way upset, but in a things-didn’t-go-according-to-God’s-plan kind of upset.”
The detective pursed his lips, glancing over toward the line of bodies. “So the guy over there with the demon mark…?”
“I think, and I’m reaching a bit here, but I think whatever demon had his claws in that dead guy is mighty angry.”
“Someone stole his soul,” the detective commented.
&nb
sp; I nodded. “Whatever demon marked that man didn’t get the opportunity to take his soul. He’ll want revenge. And the angel that marked Bliss, I mean Bethany? He’s going to want justice. And justice for an angel doesn’t involve a trial by their peers and fair sentencing.”
Tremelay nodded, but I got the feeling he wasn’t really listening. Before I realized what he was doing, the detective reached out a hand and put it against my waist. “And you? How long do you have before a demon comes to collect on this?”
I looked down, feeling the warmth of his hand against me even through the cotton of my shirt.
“I’ve got no idea. But trust me, once this is over I’m doing everything I can to get this mark off of my skin and off of my soul.”
Chapter 23
I DROVE HOME alone, the sun setting in my rear view mirror as the skyline of Baltimore rose before me. Athena had headed home right after our banishing to her husband and to dreams of a baby girl. Tremelay was heading back to check progress on our hit list as well as the search of Ronald Stull’s apartment.
I had never felt so lonely or afraid.
I was demon marked. People had been murdered in a horrific manner. A woman, a dying woman who only wanted to feel a sense of connection in her last moments, had spent those very moments in terror and despair. I felt like I was spinning my wheels. We had a list of names, but unless Tremelay could find concrete proof he’d have no way to prosecute the mages. It’s not like I had the skills to help him with any of that either. The only thing left for me to do was figure out how to rein in Araziel before the angel killed anyone else, although there hadn’t been any further victims since the junkies at Old Town Mall. If they’d died Friday, that meant the angel hadn’t killed in three days. Perhaps he’d returned through the veil, satisfied that justice was served.
As convenient as that would be, part of me wished he’d remain and take out the rest of the murderers. I had no faith that Tremelay could make any charges stick, and it made me ill to think the mages might get away with murder.
“It would be easier if Araziel just killed them all,” I muttered to myself as I pulled in my parking area. Easier. An eye for an eye, with no way for them to wiggle out of punishment.
My demon-mark ached and I rubbed it, reminded that there was yet another thing I needed to do. Even if Araziel had returned to his heavenly home, my work would not be done until I was free from that smoke demon.
I locked my car and sensed the prickle of magic as soon as the alarm chirped. Without thinking, I swung my sword, still in its scabbard, and felt the blade impact someone behind me who went down with a hard “oof”.
I spun around, my heart lurching as I saw a tiny elderly woman sprawled across the dirty asphalt, clutching her shoulder. Oh my God. Did I… did I just hit a little old lady with my sword? Thankfully it had been in its scabbard or I would have quite possibly taken her arm off. As it was I probably broke her shoulder.
Slinging the offending weapon over my shoulder I bent down. “Are you okay? I didn’t know you were behind me. I heard… felt…”
I couldn’t tell her I’d felt a magical spell about to go off and swung blindly out of instinct. After all I’d been through the last three days, I was a bit jumpy, but that wasn’t an excuse for nearly skewering this woman. Although this was Baltimore, and creeping up on people tended to have consequences.
“I’ve had worse,” the woman grumbled, brushing away my offer of a hand and struggling to her feet. “Serves me right for sneaking up on a Templar.”
She knew I was a Templar. I thought again about the crackle of magic in the air and looked at the woman more closely. I’d judge her to be in her seventies, her silver hair in a stylish bob, deep creases around her eyes and mouth. Her pants suit was stylish, but the rabbit’s foot keychain she clutched in her hand didn’t look like she’d bought it at a curio shop.
I gripped my sword again, fully aware I couldn’t go around bashing the elderly because they had a poorly preserved good-luck charm as a keychain. Magic again sparked in the air. She eyed my sword, her mouth in a grim line. I eyed the rabbit’s foot, my expression probably just as tense.
“I won’t swing if you don’t,” she said. Sheesh, even her voice sounded grandmotherly, like she should be baking me cookies and not preparing to drop a magical anvil on my head.
“Deal.” I was outclassed anyway. Whatever spell she had in mind, it would hit me before my still-sheathed sword got near her. The rabbit’s foot went into her pants pocket and I took my hand off the sword.
“I’m Gryla,” she announced. I waited but no additional information came. They way she’d said the name, I’d been sure it was about to be followed by at least one descriptive adjective, like “the great,” “the deadly,” or at the very least “the gray.”
Instead her eyebrows went up. “Gryla? Head of Fiore Noir? The Baltimore group of mages?”
Duh. Six months in Baltimore and I’d never bothered to find out her name. Heck, I’d just discovered the group name and that they did death magic. I really needed to get with the program here. And hadn’t Shade mentioned her name? I’d been so intent on Ronald Stull that I’d completely forgotten.
“I’m Solaria Angelique Ainsworth, Templar. Nice to meet you.”
Nice to meet you. No, it was not nice to meet her. She was the leader of a group of murderers. I had no actual proof that she’d had a hand in the sacrifices, or killed anything beyond quite possibly a rabbit, but she was their leader. At the very least she was aware and complicit in the crimes. But what to do? Could I make a citizen’s arrest? I’d need to get that rabbit’s foot away from her and I wasn’t sure how any passerby would take my assaulting an older woman.
“I need to show you something.”
That was not what I’d expected her to say. I still hadn’t figured out how I was going to manage to detain her until Tremelay could get here. And now I was dreading whatever it was she wanted to show me. Death mages—it couldn’t be anything good.
“I’ll drive.” She motioned toward a little, sporty, red Honda at the curb, careful to keep her hands away from the pocket with the keychain.
“Uh. No. I’m not getting in a car with you and driving who knows where just so you can ‘show me something.’”
Irritation creased her face. “Then you drive.”
Yeah. Sure. I’ll drive, leaving her hands free to hex me while I navigated traffic. No way. “Just tell me what it is you want me to see.”
I hoped it wasn’t any more dead bodies. I really didn’t want to see any more dead bodies. Gryla carefully slid her cell phone from a pocket and tapped, turning the screen toward me.
It was more dead bodies. These ones weren’t neatly laid out in a ritual space, nor were they hollowed out with their ribs pointing to the sky. These bodies were torn to bits, like they’d been stuffed through a gigantic food processor. I so didn’t need to see this.
“Okay?” It was an idiotic response, but the pictures were out of any context and my brain was still busy processing the gruesome scene.
“Demons.” She pocketed the phone.
What the heck? “I banished the demon this afternoon. When did this occur?”
“Sometime between seven and eight tonight. Seven of us were meeting to discuss an upcoming bit of spell-work. I should have been there, but was detained by a very polite detective who had some questions to ask me about my name being on a list.”
Of course. She was Fiore Noir. Her name would be on the list. The image of scattered body parts flashed again in my mind. “You walked in on that?”
Gryla nodded, her hand trembling slightly as she pocketed the phone. “The detective wanted to know if I knew two men from DC who had been killed while conducting an occult ritual. I’m not an idiot. I know the DC mages summon demons. If my name’s on a list, it means I was a target for assassination.”
“But I banished that demon,” I exclaimed. “There’s no way he could have come back. You all are safe from that hit.”
Heck, they were safe before. Innyhal killed Tempest and Oak, but seemed to have no inclination to follow through on the list. Actually, he didn’t seem at all interested in what was going on between the mage groups, beyond being angry about Fiore Noir taking souls. Then I remembered. Innyhal had said Mansi was pissed about the soul magic. There was a corpse in Dead Run with a demon mark on his waist. I was willing to bet that mark was Mansi’s. And if so, Araziel wasn’t the only being who had it out for the Fiore Noir mages.
“I knew we shouldn’t have done that Dupont Circle job.” Gryla’s jaw clenched. “I hate that sort of thing, but that was the price for being able to use the soul trap. It’s not like those things are easy to come by and we had no choice. I knew there would be repercussions. I told Breaker this would happen, but he assured me there would be no backlash.”
She thought Haul Du had done this, that a mage had summoned another demon to kill their group. Maybe. Given what Tempest and Oak had tried to do, I couldn’t rule it out, but there was still the matter of the demon-marked corpse and this Mansi. Either way, if this truly had been a demon slaying, my work tonight wasn’t done. Araziel hadn’t killed in days, but this was six dead just tonight. If I didn’t act fast, there would be no one left for Tremelay to arrest.
“Are you sure it was a demon, or demons, that killed the mages?”
“Yes, I’m sure,” she snapped. “The place reeked of sulfur. No bullets. No knife cuts. These people were ripped apart. If that didn’t convince me, the display of heads with internal organs crammed in their mouths did.”
I winced, thankful she hadn’t show me that picture.
“I’ll help you with the demon problem,” I told Gryla. “But I’ll need some of your mages to assist in the banishment. Think they’d be willing to do that?”
